When Heroes Fall
by NicKenny
Summary: In the land of Marvel, the all-powerful Capitol punish the twelve outlying districts for a rebellion enacted twenty-four years ago, forcing their children to compete in the barbaric Hunger Games: twenty-four children, under the age of eighteen, fight to the death until only one still stands. This is the story of the twenty-fourth Hunger Games. This, is the story of the Avengers.
1. Prologue

**(A/N) Hey everyone! Was recently re-reading the Hunger Games, and watching the Avengers, and had the apparently not that original idea of what if the two came together? What if, instead of being the heroes of humanity, the heroes of the Avengers had to fight for their own individual survival, with some of the more memorable villains thrown into the mix. **

**How would the Hunger Games change the Avengers, and when it comes down to it, who would **_**win?**_** And so I've begun writing this fanfiction, where the Avengers will be forced to face off against one another, and where the odds can only ever be in one person's favour, in the end.**

**You, the reader, can have a direct impact in this story if you so wish. I'll be accepting ideas on which Avengers (and villains) should be from which districts, although I can't guarantee that I'll go with those offered. Also, the characters that receive the most interest, whether through chapter views, being mentioned in reviews or PM's, will last longer than those that there is little interest in.**

**I aim to please my audience, after all.**

**So without further ado, here's the prologue to this fanfic, setting the tone for things to come. You will not be prepared for this. No one will.**

**Prologue**

**Director Nick Fury**

The manservant opened the door, beckoning the dark-skinned man forward with a daintily gloved hand. "The President will see you know, Director Fury," he murmured, his eyes not quite meeting the Director's, but instead staring at a point somewhere above his left shoulder.

Fury strode past him, through the threshold, into a huge room bedecked with trophies from past Hunger Games. To his left, mounted on the wall, lay the spear used by Odin to kill the last remaining Career in the very first Games. Next to it lay the helmet gifted Eric Lensherr by a sponsor, which saved his life after taking a mace to the head. The dual katanas of Wade Wilson, the knives of the Wolverine, the suit of armour that had been forged by Obadiah Stane…everywhere that Fury turned lay a clue pointing to the owner's obsession with the Hunger Games.

Unsurprised, Fury scarcely gave the room a second glance, long accustomed to his employer's obsessions. Indeed, it was an obsession that he shared too, why else would he have accepted this role as the Director of the Hunger Games. There was something about the Games, the sheer, final brutality of it, which drew Fury towards it like a moth to a flame.

Few people in the Capitol understood death and loss like he had, for he had served in the Peacekeepers for the past thirty-five years, throughout the Dark Days and the years of imposed peace that had followed it. During this time he had lost an eye, seen friends and family die before his eyes, buried a child, killed and killed until he had lost track of the number of people whose lives he had ended. After all, it hadn't only been the districts that had suffered during the rebellion. All for the man that was now standing before him.

All for President Thanos.

The President stood out on a balcony at the end of the room, a huge black cloak billowing from his shoulders, staring out onto the city beneath him. His huge frame trembled as he gripped the railings of the balcony, not focusing on anything, not even noticing the man behind him.

Director Fury took a moment before coughing gently, standing to attention as the President spun around, glaring at him with eyes red from lack of sleep, before his features softened slightly as he realised who was standing before him.

"Ah, Director Fury," he murmured, in a voice as soft as the silk manufactured in District Eight. "Good of you to be so…punctual."

Fury only inclined his head, his one good eye remaining fixed on Thonos, his mouth fixed into a slight smile. "When the President of all of Marvel demands that you appear before him, only a fool would be late."

"And you are no fool," Thanos finished for him, nodding slowly to himself. He walked over to a huge desk, and sat down in a similarly proportioned armchair, resting his left hand against his temple, the hand that was permanently glad in a solid-gold gauntlet, the so-called "Infinity Gauntlet", the emblem of the Presidency of Marvel. "I hope that preparations for this year's Games are commencing according to schedule?" he gently asked, the question clearly present in his voice.

Director Fury nodded. "I've hired several new Gamemakers, ridding myself of the deadweight Dugan had acquired during his spell as Director. We have already begun development on the site planned for the Arena, and our labs are already at work devising some of the most…challenging mutts to date. I feel confident that, this year, our audiences will see a show that will go down as the most-successful Hunger Games to date."

Thanos nodded, lowering his gauntlet-encased hand to gently stroke his short beard, a thoughtful look settling over his features. "You wouldn't be the first Director to claim this, Nicholas, and I do hate being let down, as your predecessor would tell you."

Fury had to exercise all of his self-restraint in order not to flinch at this statement. Timothy Dugan had been a decent Peacekeeper, fighting alongside Fury during the Dark Days, but sadly, only a mediocre Director. Regardless, he deserved a better end than what he received, and Fury had no intentions of ending up the same way. "Of course not, sir. However, I must declare my utmost confidence in my team, and the plans we have for this year. We understand that previous years have been too short, too quick, too…merciful. This year's tributes aren't going to know what's hit them. It will be a year unlike anything you've seen before."

President Thanos continued staring at him, ceaselessly stroking his chin absent-mindedly. "If anyone can pull this off, it's you Nicholas, I have no doubt. But what about the tributes? How can you ensure that they will be up to the gargantuan task of entertaining our vast audience?"

Director Fury shifted uncomfortably, shrugging slightly. "I'm sure that you're aware, sir, that, no matter how we present it to the districts, these Reapings have never been at random. We have our tributes picked, and they'll be up to the challenge, I promise you."

The other man smiled, showing a row of pristine teeth, standing up and walking over to Fury, clapping a massive hand on his shoulder. "I believe you, Director Fury. I am glad to see that we finally have a director who's up to this task. I know you won't let me down."

He walked away, back out onto the balcony, dismissing Fury with a simple wave of his hand. The Director let out a brief sigh of relief, and strode out of the President's office, barging past the affronted doorman without an apology or even an acknowledgement. He was met with sympathetic gazes by the dozens of men and women who had lined up outside the President's quarters, each waiting on an appointment with Thanos, each dreading the upcoming meeting with a passion outmatched only by the person standing in front of them.

When Nick Fury made it outside, into the cold air of a winter's night in the Capitol, he finally allowed himself to breathe in deeply, dispelling the emotions that were boiling inside of him. Every citizen of Marvel knew that their president was insane, but unfortunately his position of power made himself untouchable. At the very least, his paranoia and madness was held at bay during the Hunger Games, a time when every Capitolian could breathe a small sigh of relief, and gain a month or two of respite while their President was occupied with the district's children's battle to the death.

It had all begun almost thirty years ago, when the districts had stood up and openly challenged the authority of the Capitol. While, in the end, the Capitol had won the war, its president had never quite managed to shake off the conviction that assassins lurked at every corner, that all of his advisors were plotting behind his back.

Timothy Dugan hadn't been the first to be executed, and Fury highly doubted that he would be the last. At least for old "Dum Dum" it hadn't been for treason, sedition, assassination attempts or plots, theft or attempted blackmail, but instead was simply down to the fact that he was no longer able to keep Thanos interested in the Hunger Games, a crime worse than treason in the eyes of Marvel's president.

But Fury wouldn't be going the same way. He had brought in several protégées of his, most notably Maria Hill and Phil Coulson, both of whom served under him during his time as a Colonel in the Peacekeepers. They had impressed him with their plans and ability to read characters, and he knew that the Capitol would remember these Games.

It was a delicate balance though, that needed to be held. These Games would need to run longer than normal, as President Thanos had already made his displeasure both heard and felt about the short length of the past few Hunger Games. Yet they would also have to maintain his attention, keep him occupied with the drama unfurling in the Arena.

As a result, he and his fellow Gamemakers had spent months scouting out potential tributes, planning ways to keep these games as interesting and unpredictable as possible. No that they were moving into the final few weeks of preparations, Nick Fury was of the belief that there was nothing more he could have done in for this year's Games.

He would just have to hope that President Thanos was of the same opinion, and allowed him to keep his head.

A beeping noise suddenly rang out, and Nick Fury cursed, wondering what was important enough that he needed to be contacted this time. He raised a hand to his ear, activating his earpiece. "Miss Hill, I assume you have something to report, and, trust me, this better be something big?"

Maria could scarcely fail to notice the tone in her superior's voice and she quickly replied, her voice sounded odd over Fury's connection. "The Arena has been declared fit for use, sir, and we've sent in the construction teams. However, the science team reported that a small section of the proposed site contained a high level of gamma-radiation, a potential hazard should any tributes wander into it."

Director Fury paused for a moment to consider the problem. After all, it wouldn't do if their future Victor died soon after winning due to radiation poisoning. _That_ certainly wouldn't go down well with President Thanos.

"Arrange for it to be cordoned off, nothing too heavy, perhaps slap on some warning signs," he finally said, his expression grim. "If any tributes are dumb enough to wander in after that, well, they're probably too dumb to win in the first place."

"Of course, Director, I will instruct them to do so immediately," she paused then, something that she rarely did, before hesitantly, almost tenderly asking: "Did your meeting with the President go well, sir?"

Fury snorted, rolling his eyes. "I don't think that's any of your business, Miss Hill. But, for your information, it went as well as it could have. At the very least, we have six months to show our dear President Thanos that we're the only people able to produce a viable Hunger Games. Tell Coulson I'll want to talk to him when I return. We need to start finalizing our selection of tributes. I've already informed the president that we have our selection ready."

"Understood sir," she replied, and with a click, was gone.

Fury stood there, at the entrance to the Presidential Palace, his breathe coming out in billowing clouds. He sighed one last time, pulling his trench-coat into a more comfortable position before striding off into the night, soon lost in the thin-layer of mist that lay around this sector of the Capitol, one thought in his head.

No one would be prepared for this year's Games, not the districts, not the Capitol, not even Thanos himself.


	2. District One: High Expectations

**(A/N) Ok guys, I am proud to reveal our first Reaping, that of District One. You may or may not recognise these characters, as they did not appear in the Marvel Cinematic Universe up 'til now at least, but they are very well-known characters within the Avenger's universe. These reaping chapters will probably be relatively short, I'm thinking somewhere between 3,000 to 4,000 words, but we'll have to see. **

**Thanks to everyone who've taken time to read this fanfic so far, and it'd mean so much to me if you took the time to leave a review, no matter how short and trivial. I am fully committed to completing both this work, and the other projects that I've been working on, but there may be long gaps in between chapters. If that happens, I'd like to apologise in advance, but trust me, I believe in this fanfic, and I hope you'll all stick around. It's going to be a wild ride.**

**Now, without further ado, I present the tributes of District One for this very special Hunger Games.**

**May the odds be ever in their favour…**

**Chapter One – District One: High Expectations**

**Jacques Duquesne of District One**

"_Those who play with the devil's toys will be brought by degrees to wield his sword." – R. Buckminster Fuller_

A young man, clad in a sleeveless purple cotton t-shirt, took his place in the eighteen-year-old section, a lazy grin on his face. His tanned face was flecked with dark stubble, and his teeth were shining white, marking him out as one of the wealthier, even amongst District One. His flexed his bulging biceps as he took his place, and the crowd around him cleared slightly, making way for the inevitable.

Every year the Reapings just seemed more and more pointless, he mused. It's not as though any of the past twenty-four tributes from District One had actually been Reaped. District One didn't leave their tributes up to chance, after all. No Career district did. It wouldn't do if the Outliers began to rack up more Victors, after all!

No, District One didn't leave anything up to chance, and Jacques had been selected to volunteer this year, outshining the best competition that the district could throw at him. His skill with the sword had been unmatched, and the Victors presiding over the selection committee had claimed to have never seen someone with his level of skill before.

Jacques had difficulty accepting this, seeing as one of the District One mentors was Wade Wilson, who, during his time in the Arena, had become known as Deadpool due to the pools of blood forming from the bodies that he left in his wake. No one had been able to match Wade in the Arena, and he had racked up sixteen of the kill-count, the highest number of kills a District One tribute had ever received, second only to one other previous Victor.

What was considerably more likely was that they had only made the claim to increase hype over Jacques' entrance. Not that he was complaining. After studying personally under Azazel and, later, Wade himself, Jacques knew that his skill with a sword would be unmatched by any other tribute. He might not have the speed of his mentors, but his physical bulk was unmatched by them.

He had been given up at birth to the district's Training Centre, where dozens of children whose parents couldn't afford to keep them, or just wanted to help serve their district by supplying a possible future Victor, left their children in the care of dozens of grizzled trainers, many of whom had fought the Capitol during the Dark Days, and now served to ensure that the children they sent out made it back home, basking in the glory of victory.

His entire life had been leading up to this, training constantly since he was old enough to walk, breaking records that had been set by District One's three Victors themselves in the areas of endurance and strength. He had no problems with killing, that much he knew without a trace of doubt. A bigger concern was his self-restraint. Jacques had often been pulled off an opponent in training, not quite able to switch off his rage when the bout was over. There had been several close calls that could have ended in him killing a fellow trainee, a crime where death was the only punishment considered by the Peacekeepers, District One or not. While he didn't have the charisma of Wade, the speed of Azazel, or the skill with a bow of David North, their third Victor, his sheer strength and determination had made a mark on the selection committee, and had cemented the decision to choose him as this year's male tribute.

The Capitol escort took the stage as the mayor's speech came to an end. As always, when the mayor finally closed with the usual "Long live President Thanos!" the crowd burst into wild applause, only dying down when the stick-thin, indigo haired escort began to speak. Jacques barely paid attention to what she was saying, basking in the moment before all of Marvel would see him, their next Victor, take the stage. It was his destiny, after all. In a couple of weeks, the entire world would know the name Jacques Duquesne.

The escort nattered on, and Jacques was surprised to find himself staring at her rather large…chest, as it heaved up and down with every breath that she took. His training had left him little time for relationships of any kind, and his mentors had warned him about those who would use sexual attraction to their advantage. It was a weakness he could not allow himself to have, not in District One, not in the Arena. Sexual attraction was the worst weakness a tribute could have in the Arena, and had claimed the lives of more tributes than any other weapon. He could not allow himself to go down the same path.

However, there was nothing to lose if he…let himself go a little in the Capitol, after all. In fact, it might even give him an advantage, all the pretty little Capitol women giving up their husbands' earnings just to see him make it safely through. His eyes fell on the escorts breasts once more, and he couldn't prevent a smile begin to settle on his face. The Capitol had one thing going for it already, those medical procedures its women underwent in order to make themselves more physically attractive sure did one hell of a job.

The escort cleared her throat, a strangely deep and masculine noise for such a fragile and delicate figure. "Without further ado, the male tribute for District One is…"

She paused, looking around as the entire crowd assembled hung on her every word. Jacques raged at her from within, begging her to READ OUT THE GODDAMN NAME! He didn't much care who was selected, as everyone who had gathered there today knew that he would be taking that poor saps place, he just didn't know how much longer he could wait before storming the stage, whether or not she had read out the name.

The escort smiled, baring her teeth, and finally shouted: "Jacques Duquesne!"

Jacques paused, stunned. Never before had the district's chosen volunteer actually been Reaped, but he quickly began to see this as a good thing. After all, it made him unique. He would be the first person from District One brave enough to not let someone volunteer in their place. He would be the first person from District One to be Reaped and _win._

He let out a triumphant roar and proudly strolled up through the parting crowd, punching his hand into the air as he climbed up the steps onto the stage, basking in the applause of the crowd, _his _crowd, shaking hands with the escort as he took his place next to her.

"You seem very calm, given that this must have been a big surprise for you!" she chirped, pushing her hair out of her eyes and meeting his gaze, a wry smile on her face.

Jacques only smiled, shaking his head slightly. "Didn't matter much to me. I was going to volunteer anyway," he glanced over at Wade, who was standing against the backdrop of the stage, nodding slightly. Emboldened by his mentor's presence, Jacques looked back at the escort, grinning hugely.

"May I ask you to repeat this year's future-Victor's name one more time?" he asked cheekily, chuckling as the escort appeared momentarily flummoxed, as if confused by what he meant.

She regained her composure after a moment, beaming brightly, and exclaimed his name again to the crowd, who let out a deafening, eardrum-shattering cheer. Jacques idly wondered whether they could hear it, out in the other districts. Did they know that their tributes days were numbered? Did they feel the fear that their tributes would soon be consumed by? The escort continued on: "I think we can say, without a doubt, that these will be the most interesting Games to date!"

The crowd lapped that up, of course, continuing to cheer, almost appearing to have forgotten that the female tribute was still to be reaped. Then again, why would they care about Jacques's female counterpart? They were already looking at the Victor of this year's Games. What more could they want? Jacques slowly leans over to the pretty escort, nudging her gently.

"You had me worried there, for a second," he murmurs, giving her a slight smile. As she smiled back, he couldn't help but notice the cleavage made visible by her low cut dress.

_Yes, _he mused, _these could be a _very _interesting Games indeed._

**Greer Nelson of District One**

"_I'm different. I have a different constitution, I have a different brain, I have a different heart. I got tiger blood, man. Dying's for fools, dying's for amateurs." – Charlie Sheen_

A girl grimaces as the Jacques strides up towards the stage, cursing her luck. Of course, _he _would be picked, even though he was already chosen to volunteer as tribute. They wouldn't ask their precious swords-master to enter the Games in anything other than a triumphant fashion. That had always been the way with the two of them. Jacques lived a fairy-tale life, unable to do wrong, prancing from one challenge to the next without suffering any opposition from the people of his district, who simply stood back in order to watch their star shine.

Greer had lived a very different life, constantly being overlooked, underestimated, ignored, challenged with every step that she had taken on the path that had led up to this moment, to her chance to finally shine. She was practically shaking, waiting for her moment to come, waiting for the idiot that she would have to pair up with to finally stop speaking and allow her to take her place on the podium beside him.

She had earned her place as much as he had, yet the crowd cheered with every word that came out of his mouth. It had always been this way, a never ending cycle: Jacques had been born to be the golden boy of District One, while she was destined to remain forgotten, skulking in his shadow.

District One had always been obsessed with their male tributes, rarely sparing much, if any, attention on their female one, although Greer had to admit that it made sense. District One had never had a female Victor, and there had only been two female Victors from _anywhere _in all of the past twenty-three Hunger Games: Emma Frost of Two and Raven Darkholme of Nine.

The odds certainly were not in her favour.

Not that Greer cared though, as she scowled in Jacques' direction as he visibly drooled over their escort's surgically-enhanced breasts.

_Men._

Greer was going to surprise them all, even if only she knew it. She had spent all sixteen years of her life training towards this, and even if she didn't have past Victors training her like Jacques had, she had still been chosen over dozens of potential tributes with an extra year or two of experience on her, making her youngest female tribute ever from District One. If that didn't prove that she had a better chance at this than any of those who had preceded her, she didn't know what did.

The escort eventually shook herself free of Jacques' "charm", and read out the female tributes name. Greer didn't recognise the name, or the small, delicate looking child who slowly made her way up onto the stage, trembling as everyone's eyes locked on her petite frame.

Greer rolled her eyes, tutting to herself, pushing her way through the crowd before the child had even reached the top of the stairs.

"I volunteer as tribute!" she screamed, smiling as heads whipped round to look at her.

The small girl let out a relieved gasp, and thanked Greer as she walked past her, beaming. Greer took no notice, shrugging the girl's hand off her shoulder, not bothering to reply. Why should she, when that girl had been too afraid to face the only honourable means of life available to the denizens of District One. She was some jeweller's daughter, no doubt, without a drop of Career blood in her.

Greer pumped the air as she reached her place to the left of the escort, not even glancing in Jacques' direction as the crowd let out another deafening cheer, although Greer couldn't help but notice that it was not entirely as enthusiastic as the one that her district partner had received.

_What a surprise._

The escort shook her hand enthusiastically, congratulating her on her bravery for volunteering. Greer only rolled her eyes, muttering a short "It's nothing," before turning back to the crowd. The escort deflated a bit, realising that Greer wasn't going to give her much to work with, but quickly fixed a smile back on her face, triumphantly proclaiming to the crowd: "There we have it, ladies and gentlemen! Your tributes for the twenty-fourth annual Hunger Games will be Jacques Duquesne and Greer Nelson!"

The crowd let out their loudest cheer yet, and, despite herself, Greer couldn't help but smile slightly, caught up in their infectious enthusiasm. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Jacques grinning madly and waving to the crowd, showing off those incredible muscles of his.

_Idiot._

She'd be forced to put up with him, she sadly reflected. District One tributes always made up part of the Career Pack, which means that she'd have to find a way to work alongside him without trying to tear his throat out. A trying task indeed.

The only hope that she could hold onto was that the other members of the Pack wouldn't be as moronically unintelligent as Jacques, although she wasn't holding this hope too close to her heart. Careers tending to favour brawn over brains, which was why, although the Careers had the highest proportion of Victors, they still had less Victors than the rest of the Outlying Districts put together. A fact that Greer was going to change, if she had any say about it.

They were led away to the Justice Building, but Greer wasn't expecting any visitors. She was slightly surprised when the district's mayor walked in, offering her his congratulations. She smiled and nodded, touched by his arrival, but eager for him to leave so that she could be on her way. When he left, she sat alone in the room for a few minutes, fingering her token, the cat-head amulet that hung around her neck.

Eventually a Peacekeeper opened the door, ready to escort her to the train, and she sprang up, confident and ready for whatever the Capitol would throw at her. She brushed by the Peacekeeper, unsurprised to see that Jacques was already waiting for her, a smug smirk on his face. She nodded to him, keeping the hostility she felt towards him off her face as best she could, and offered as polite a greeting as she could manage.

"Jacques." There, at least it wasn't openly insulting, although she had only just managed to avoid spitting his name out. Well, it wasn't like they were ever going to be best friends or anything. As long as she could keep a civil tongue, then maybe she could last a week or two in his presence.

Maybe.

He nodded back to her, the same lazy grin stuck on his face, his eyes looking her over in that sickeningly lecherous way of his. "Nice to see you plucked up the courage to volunteer, Greer. Was worried you'd be backing out on me for a second or two."

Greer snorted, clenching her fists, showing every bit of mental control that she possessed in refraining from punching him square in the mouth. "Oh? And what, let you embarrass District One? No, Jacques, there was never any doubt in my mind. Couldn't leave you alone out there in the big, bad Arena."

Jacques barely seemed to notice her response, just reaching out a hand, clapping her on the shoulder, sneering in that grating voice. "Same old Greer. Nice to know I'll have someone to watch my back out there, huh?"

He walked off, leaving her seething. Of course she would be paired up with the one person in the district that she would be only too happy to see dead. Hell, she'd be happy to kill him herself, providing she could find a way of doing so that didn't sour the people's opinion of her, back here in District One. They rarely welcomed Victors who had murdered their district partner with open arms.

It was just so goddamn_ typical._

Indeed, Azazel was only starting to become an accepted part of the district. People still hadn't quite forgotten what he had done to his partner during the Games. Something that brutally violent stuck in people's minds, and it was a brave man who got into an argument with the Victor of the eleventh Games. Brave, or just suicidal. Regardless, it was rarely a good idea to kill your district partner until there was no other option. Greer knew she couldn't afford to take that chance.

Greer would just have to wait and hope. It wasn't unheard of for Outliers to land a lucky blow early on and take out a Career or two. Indeed, few Games had the entire Career pack make it through the first day completely unscathed, despite their years of training. In the end, no one wanted to die, and no matter how impoverished the tribute, when their life was threatened they became more and vicious dangerous than anything a Career's training could prepare them for.

Nobody wants to die. The problem is twenty-three of them would have to, before the end. Sometimes reality was harsh that way, but Greer rarely troubled herself over it. She would come back, she had no doubt. While Jacques might let the pretty little Capitol women turn his head, Greer would keep her head in the game, and she would _win, _and District One would soon forget all about Jacques Duquesne, the star that briefly shone, then died without a murmur_. _This was _her_ time to shine.

Then again, with some luck, it wouldn't take too long until the Careers had decimated their opposition, leaving them free to turn on one another in order to decide the winner of this year's Hunger Games. When it had gotten down to the final eight, district partnerships meant little, even back home. If she could make it that far without throttling him, no one in District One would care too much about her actions after that point. When that moment came…well…

_Then_ Jacques, and District One, would find out that _this _little kitty has claws.


End file.
